


helping hands

by tinybowties



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aro-ace Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Aromantic Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Asexual Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Body Worship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, M/M, Platonic Kissing, platonic intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27448261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinybowties/pseuds/tinybowties
Summary: “For god’s sake, Jim,” Leonard says around a mouthful of toast, “would you come sit down? You’re making me tired just lookin’ at you.”“I just—” Jim starts to say. He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, hands coming up to scrub at his face, tug at his hair. “I need—”“What youneedis to get some food in you and then sleep a good eight hours,” Leonard interrupts.---Or, that time when Jim and Leonard had a rough day and Leonard just wants to help Jim relax.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 131





	1. inciting incident

**Author's Note:**

> idk what to tell you about this one y'all i just woke up this morning and thought "what the world really needs is an ace pal getting his bestie off to help him relax" and so here we are. this gets fluffy as hell and i'm not remotely sorry.

The tranya is sweet like peaches. Leonard sips at his while Jim does the talking, keeping his head down and his gaze focused on his glass. If he doesn’t, if he lets himself look at the childlike alien who’s been the cause of all their troubles these past twenty-four hours, or speak, he’s afraid his fury will boil over and he’ll ruin all Jim’s careful diplomacy.

Because Leonard _is_ furious. “It’s been a pleasure testing you,” the alien had said, and laughed, like it was all some harmless joke. And sure, if it had just been the threats, the battle of wits, captain to captain—that would have been one thing. The damage to the _Enterprise_ ’s engines and her shielding can be repaired, if Scotty’s word is anything to go by, and it usually is.

But the lethal radiation they’d basted in before that buoy menace was destroyed? _That’s_ not a game. Leonard’s sickbay is filling up with casualties of the aggressive battering about the _Enterprise_ took during Balok’s little power trip, no doubt, while Leonard himself sits here drinking alien liqueur. He’s got full faith in his medical staff to deal with the typical turbulence-related injuries, of course, but…

Without quite meaning to, his eyes flick up to Jim. Treating the man for acute radiation poisoning once should have been quite enough for one lifetime, and Jim may be on his second go ‘round now but Leonard’s still on his first, thank you very much. And this time it’s not _just_ Jim—he’ll have to call in the whole ship’s complement for rapid treatment just as soon as they’ve transported back.

Jim looks at him, then, and their eyes catch; Jim’s soften around the corners and a ghost of a smile plays across his lips. Not the well practiced diplomatic one he’s been treating Balok to since the alien revealed his game, but a smaller, private one, just for Leonard. One eyebrow arched, Jim raises his glass minutely before taking another sip of his own tranya: _hang in there_ , Leonard reads in the gesture. He nods stiffly and returns his scowling gaze to the liquid in his glass until, what feels like hours later but is probably no more than a half of one, Jim finishes his negotiations with the alien and then Scotty’s beaming them back aboard.

Strictly speaking, they’re on beta watch now and the both of them should have a chance to get some rest. Leonard knows damn well that’s not going to be the reality for himself; looking at Jim, he can tell his friend won’t be handing over the conn, either, not until the worst of the fallout is dealt with.

“Jim,” he says as they step off the transporter pad, and claps a hand on his shoulder when Jim turns to look at him. He doesn’t really have anything to say, but their eyes meet and they hold each other’s gaze for a long, silent moment. Leonard thinks they both gain some steadiness from it, like they’ve pressed pause on everything else, however briefly, just to be present here together. Leonard takes a deep breath; Jim mirrors him. When they’re ready, Leonard returns that ghost of a smile that Jim had offered him, back on Balok’s ship, and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Jim agrees. Still holding Leonard’s gaze, he steps closer and tips his head to rest their foreheads together. “Thanks, Bones,” he says quietly, earnestly. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Leonard scoffs at that, breaking off their contact and stepping away. He hadn’t even _done_ anything, over there on that alien ship; just knocked his head on the ceiling and then scowled his way through their welcoming party and tour. “Whatever you say, kid.”

Jim just smiles in that infuriating way of his and claps Leonard on the back on their way out of the transporter room. They part ways at the door, Jim headed to the bridge while Leonard makes his way to sickbay, and that’s the last he sees of Jim for the next ten hours.

As he suspected, sickbay is crowded when he gets there; mostly minor injuries, but the sour smell of vomit lingers in the air. Christine appears at his side within moments and hands him a padd with the preliminary triage reports.

“Who’ve we got in the lab? Brent?” he asks as he skims through patient files. Bumps and bruises, mostly, a few fractures and sprains, one mild concussion, and a handful of crew members reporting with symptoms of nausea, headache, and fever.

“No, sir, they’ve just switched out. It’s Tracy and Harrison now.”

“They’ll do. I want them synthesizin’ ribatropin, stat. First doses go to Rodriguez, Leslie, Matthews, Bates, and Palmer. Start them on 12cc and go from there. In the meantime I want every person on board dosed with potassium iodide.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Christine look over to the nauseated patients with surprise. Within a moment, though, her expression steels and she nods smartly. “I’ll see to it, doctor.”

“Good. I’ll take over on triage, Nurse Chapel. Any complications, you call me. We just went from damn near losin’ the whole ship to mission completed, zero casualties, and I mean to keep it that way.”

***

Getting the radiation protection into everyone is the easy part; scanning the whole crew for signs of poisoning and getting treatment to everyone who needs it will take longer. Days, probably, and weeks of follow up to make sure it’s taking properly. Leonard works straight through until the engines, quiet for once while Scotty’s crew works to repair them, abruptly come back online. He looks at the time, realizes he hasn’t so much as taken a break for coffee since he and Jim returned from Balok’s ship, and sets down the depleted hypo in his hand.

“You’ll be all right, Mr. Farrell,” he says, waving the lieutenant off the biobed. “I want you back here in a week to make sure everything’s settlin’ all right, sooner if you start feelin’ sick at all. Got it?”

Assurances granted, Farrell scurries away, and Leonard takes a moment to survey his sickbay. They’ve got a steady rotation of patients moving through now, and at some point Sanchez and M’Benga have swapped out with Christine. Well, good for her for having the sense to get some rest; they’re well into gamma watch already, and Leonard shouldn’t still be here himself.

Leaving sickbay in M’Benga’s capable hands, he heads for the bridge. Predictably, Jim’s still in the captain’s chair when Leonard gets there, though it looks like about all that’s keeping him upright is the fist he’s got propped under his chin.

“I think you’ve had about enough, kid,” Leonard murmurs as he comes to stand beside him. It’s a familiar refrain between them, even if these days he’s more apt to be talking about work than booze when he says it.

Jim blinks up at him, his blue eyes cloudy with fatigue, and Leonard clicks his tongue.

“Helmsman, give us the time, will you?”

The officer on watch at Sulu’s usual station responds automatically: “0318, Doctor McCoy.”

“Mhmm. And the captain’s been on duty since when?”

They swivel to look at him; Leonard can’t place their name right now, he’s rarely on the bridge during gamma watch, but he can see well enough from their expression that they know exactly what he’s up to.

“I couldn’t say, Doctor, since I wasn’t here,” they reply, “but I imagine since 0800 yesterday, at the start of alpha watch.”

“That’s what I thought,” Leonard says, tipping them an appreciative nod before looking back down at Jim. “Well, Jim? Up you get, you’re due for some sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

“Okay, okay,” Jim acquiesces. “Lieutenant Kaur, you have the conn.”

He lurches to his feet, and very nearly cracks his jaw on a yawn before he and Leonard have gotten as far as the lift. The simple exercise of walking back to his quarters seems to rouse him, though; by the time they step through the doors together, Jim’s a bundle of restless, nervous energy. Leonard stops at the replicator long enough to draw up a couple plates of eggs and toast before collapsing bonelessly onto Jim’s couch. Jim paces.

“For god’s sake, Jim,” Leonard says around a mouthful of toast, “would you come sit down? You’re making me tired just lookin’ at you.”

“I just—” Jim starts to say. He cuts himself off with a shake of his head, hands coming up to scrub at his face, tug at his hair. “I need—”

“What you _need_ is to get some food in you and then sleep a good eight hours,” Leonard interrupts. Jim lets out a haunted, strangled little whimper in response, and Leonard sighs.

“Come on, kid, listen to me. No one died, all right? _No one died today_. You did good. So come here an’ sit down and eat.”

Jim looks at him with wounded eyes but finally gives in. He sits on the couch next to Leonard, takes the second plate of food, and picks at it.

“That’s all thanks to you. I meant it before, Bones, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Leonard snorts. “Bullshit,” he says, and shovels another bite of toast loaded down with scrambled eggs into his mouth.

“Seriously.” Jim puts his plate down, turns to look at him directly. Lord almighty, but the kid’s wound up, and it doesn’t escape Leonard’s notice that he’s barely had more than a nibble of his toast. “Bones, seriously. We still don’t know—Balok really might have blown us up, if we hadn’t—and I was out of ideas, Spock was out of ideas, he was ready to call it checkmate. ‘No other logical alternatives’,” he mimics, and Leonard huffs because Jim’s Spock impression has been getting pretty good. “Four minutes on the countdown and _you_ never stopped believing I could get us out of that mess.”

“Uh-huh,” Leonard says, his eyebrows climbing up into his hairline. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Because you kept riding my ass and gave me the idea. _Thank you_ , Bones.”

 _Jesus_. “Yeah, all right. You’re welcome,” Leonard accedes, because fine, maybe he helped. Jim would have figured it out without him, no question, but fine. “Now eat your damn toast or I’m gonna feed it to ya.”

Jim studies his face for a few moments, bright eyes painfully earnest. Whatever he sees there, he seems to accept Leonard’s not-so-gracious acknowledgement, and his expression cracks into a grin.

“Maybe I _want_ you to feed it to me,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively, but he picks up his barely-nibbled toast and tears a bite off of it before Leonard can even roll his eyes.

Still, he doesn’t relax. There’s tension practically _radiating_ off the kid, his muscles tight enough to make his posture stiff and unnatural. Leonard takes a last bite of his dinner, sets his plate aside, and reaches up to tug at Jim’s shoulder.

“Here, turn around again. Lean on me. And _keep eating_ ,” Leonard orders. Jim does as he’s told, for once, only pausing long enough to hum a snatch of some old song as he leans back against Leonard’s chest before scooping some of his eggs into his mouth. Leonard really does roll his eyes then—Jim’s got the worst taste in classical—but it doesn’t stop him sliding a hand up Jim’s back, under his shirt.

“Jesus, you’re tense. How are you even still moving, kid?”

Jim shrugs, unrepentant, and Leonard scowls. He strokes up Jim’s back again, just enough pressure behind the heel of his palm to leave a warm trail of friction in his wake, and again and again until he feels the muscles all bunched up under that smooth skin start to loosen. He draws his hand out from under Jim’s shirt then, and a mournful sound tears its way loose from Jim’s throat.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby, I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Leonard grumbles. He shifts his weight around, tucking one thigh up on the couch alongside Jim’s and leaning forward so his chest is fitted snugly against Jim’s back, slides an arm up to wrap around Jim’s chest to hold him close and steady, slips his free hand into the minimal space between them and starts kneading at the still tight muscles with his knuckles. Jim lets out an appreciative groan, back arching and head lolling back. With his chin propped on Jim’s shoulder, just at the crook of his neck, Leonard can just see the way Jim’s eyes flutter shut.

“Bones, fuck, you’ve got amazing hands. Did anyone ever tell you you have amazing hands?”

“Might’ve heard it a time or two,” Leonard smirks. “I _am_ a surgeon. Finish your eggs.”

Jim whines. Leonard pauses his kneading, one eyebrow arcing up, and Jim whines louder.

“Finish your eggs, Jim.”

With what appears to be a monumental effort, Jim lifts up his plate and scrapes up the last of his eggs and toast. He tosses the replicated dish aside with a clatter before slumping back against Leonard’s chest, and Leonard snorts.

“There, was that so hard?” he asks, and then, “Don’t answer that,” because Jim’s still got a real smart mouth on him sometimes. “Let’s just get you out of this shirt, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Jim sighs, and sits up enough, raises his arms to help Leonard get the shirt up and over his head. Leonard considers for a moment, then shrugs and shucks his own shirt off while Jim’s freeing his arms from his sleeves. Not like he’s gonna make it back to his own quarters anytime tonight anyway, might as well get comfortable.

Jim collapses back against him and wriggles until he finds a position he likes. Leonard wraps an arm around his chest again; his thumb catches accidentally at Jim’s nipple as it passes by, Jim’s breath hitches just slightly, and Leonard pauses, considering. Jim, though, bless him, is not to be denied his back massage now that it’s been promised. The delay has him wriggling again, whining out “Booones, Bones, _please_?” in the most ridiculously cajoling tone ever to cross Leonard’s ears.

He gives in with a muttered comment, pressing his knuckles into the muscles of Jim’s back again. Leonard’s more than exhausted himself and his eyes slide shut while he works, feeling his way by touch, but it doesn’t take long before Jim’s finally relaxed, limbs gone slack and pliant. 

“Now don’t that feel better, hmm?” Leonard says gently, skritching his fingers through Jim’s hair now, and Jim murmurs a drowsy affirmative.

“That’s good. You wanna try standin’ up? We’ll get you stripped down an’ into bed, hey Jim?”

He was expecting some of the laxness to slide away then, but Jim stiffens inexplicably and _squirms_. Leonard cracks an eye open at that response, momentarily concerned, but a quick visual inspection puts paid to that; there’s an embarrassed flush staining Jim’s cheeks, a rosy pink glow across his chest, and the pants Leonard just suggested getting him out of are tented at the front.

“All right, kid,” he says, a smile creeping into his voice, “it happens. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, nothin’ I ain’t seen before.”

Jim squirms again, like he’s trying to roll over. “Sorry, Bones,” he whispers. “I know you’re not—I didn’t mean—just felt good,” and he sounds so wretched miserable that Leonard makes a snap decision. Not like he hadn’t already entertained the notion, earlier, and the endorphins won’t do Jim anything but good anyway.

His chin’s propped in the crook of Jim’s neck already, so it’s nothing to tilt his head just so and nuzzle into Jim’s throat. “Jim,” he says, letting his lips brush over sensitive skin with the words, “stop apologizin’.”

He lifts his head a little, nips lightly at Jim’s earlobe, presses a kiss into the soft flesh beneath the corner of his jaw, and Jim stops breathing altogether for seconds ticking by. When he draws in a breath again it’s shaky, ragged, and he turns uncertain blue eyes on Leonard.

“What—? You don’t…?” Jim asks helplessly, and Leonard snorts.

“Please, kid, it ain’t like I’m some blushin’ virgin. I got a daughter, remember?” This does not seem to reassure Jim any, if his doubtful expression is anything to go by, and Leonard feels his own sardonic smile soften.

“Hey. You don’t want me to, Jim, I’ll stop, nothin’ more to say about it. But… an’ I ain’t lookin’ to fuck you, all right, but if you want a hand with that I’m more than willing.”

That’s enough. The breath bursts explosively from Jim’s lungs, and all the sudden tension he’d picked up along with it. “ _God_ , yes, _please_ ,” and Leonard never has been able to say no to Jim, really, so that’s all the invitation he needs. He buries his nose in Jim’s throat again, one hand still carding through Jim’s hair, soft and thick, the other flicking teasingly at the nipple he’d grazed before. The soft groan Jim lets out and the way he practically melts into Leonard’s chest are gratifying.

Leonard hums, dropping a trail of light kisses up Jim’s throat to his jawline, nipping at his ear again while his hand traces designs across Jim’s chest, his ribs. It’s strange how familiar this is, he thinks absently; Leonard hasn’t done this since Jocelyn, and not even with her at all in the last few years of their marriage. But it’s easy to fall into the same practiced routine, feathering kisses down Jim’s spine and rolling Jim’s nipples between his fingers, especially knowing Jim won’t expect him to—

“ _Fuck_ , Bones, when you said a hand I didn’t think—oh, _mm_ , why are you so good at this,” Jim is saying, and Leonard stops thinking about Jocelyn. It’s Jim who’s squirming in his lap now, talking a mile a minute, interrupting himself with little gasps and sighs and occasionally just choking on a word before starting over with a different thought as Leonard works his hands down, down, from Jim’s collarbone over his chest and shoulders, down his back, around his ribcage, over his belly to his hips, detouring now and then to return to the spots that make Jim gasp the loudest, and who Leonard’s done this with before or why is the furthest thing from his mind.

Jim reaches down to fumble with his pants when Leonard finally glides a thumb over the angle of his hip bone. Leonard brushes his hands out of the way, unfastens the button and fly himself, hooks his thumbs around the waistband of Jim’s briefs and tugs pants and briefs together down Jim’s hips to his thighs. Jim’s cock springs free, hard and flushed and weeping, and his squirming redoubles.

“Oh my god, Bones, _please_ , if you don’t touch me I think I’m gonna die, who knew you were such a tease, you’re killing me, Bones—”

Leonard chuckles, noses at Jim’s ear before kissing his cheek, his temple, and Jim groans raggedly, his hips bucking. “Pretty sure I’ve _been_ touchin’ you, darlin’,” he drawls, and probably deserves the names Jim calls him at that. He still takes his time, exploring the round curve of Jim’s buttocks and the soft downy skin of his thighs before finally wrapping a hand around Jim’s cock and swiping his thumb over the head of it. Jim practically sobs, his whole body trembling with the tension that’s been steadily growing as Leonard works him over. He turns his head, burrowing into Leonard’s chest, and Leonard beats back a shiver of reaction to the unfamiliar sensation of warm breath dampening his skin, the faint scratch of stubble over his collarbone.

It’s over fairly quickly after that, anyway; Leonard strokes his fist up Jim’s cock in an easy rhythm, his other hand coming up to cup Jim’s face, thumb tracing gently over his cheekbone while he buries his nose in Jim’s hair and murmurs “You’re all right, you’re all right, Jim, just let go now,” and Jim shudders, there’s tears wetting his cheek the next time Leonard’s thumb traces across it, and his hips pump up into Leonard’s grip as he climaxes.

Minutes pass, Jim sprawled ragdoll limp across Leonard’s chest, and Leonard wipes his hand clean before sliding his fingers gently through his hair again while he waits for him to recover. The first sign of movement comes in the form of an open-mouthed kiss dragging across Leonard’s collarbone and then, “Wow,” Jim breathes, and he’s pushing himself up, rolling over to hover over Leonard, legs all tangled up in his pants. Jim reaches for him, hesitates, makes as if to cup Leonard’s jaw, or trail his fingers down his chest, or…

“Can I?” Jim asks, eyes shining, voice little more than a whisper, and Leonard smiles up at him fondly and shakes his head.

“Nah, kid, I’m all right. I don’t need anything.” When he still looks uncertain, Leonard pushes himself upright to sitting so Jim’s forced to move back off his lap some. A grin breaks across his face and he pats Jim’s bare ass and says, “But _you_ need to sleep. Come on, now, kick those pants off the rest of the way and let’s get you to bed.”

Jim only hesitates a moment longer before he obeys, standing up from the couch and shimmying out of his uniform pants to leave them pooled on the floor. Leonard stands too, helps Jim to the bed and tucks him in, dropping one last kiss on the tip of Jim’s nose before he straightens, figuring to head back and crash on the couch for what’s left of the night.

A hand catches at his wrist before he can leave. He looks down into Jim’s pleading eyes and sighs, knowing without a doubt that whatever Jim’s about to ask for, he’ll give it. Leonard really never has been able to say no to this kid.

So when the hand tugs at his wrist, pulls him back down toward the bed and Jim says, “At least sleep with me?” he gives in without a fight, just strips down to his boxers and slides under the covers.

This might have been a mistake. Jim’s never looked at him the way he’s been looking since he stirred from his post-coital haze, and the last thing Leonard wants is to break his heart. But that, he decides, already tipping forward into the dark, sucking vacuum of sleep with his best friend clinging to him like he’ll disappear if he’s not pinned down, is a problem for tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm also on tumblr @ [tinybowties](http://tinybowties.tumblr.com), come yell at me about mckirk and the triumverate and ask me about my headcanons
> 
> P.S. it has come to my attention that I was too slick with the reference here but honestly Leonard really wouldn't know what song Jim was humming so I can't stick it in the fic proper. It's Lean On Me, you're welcome, now you can stop wondering.


	2. aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops i wrote more of this. there might still be more to come but for now i'm marking it as complete.

Jim wakes up feeling comfortable, warm, and refreshed. His cheek is pillowed on a warm chest, steadily rising and falling, a heart beat in his ear, and—he’s sorry to note (for his bed partner’s sake, anyway; for his part he’s more amused than anything)—an unmistakable wet puddle of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. Oops.

He cracks an eye open to find that his quarters are pitch dark. That’s unusual: he usually prefers lights at around five percent. He lifts his head, wipes at his mouth and ruefully tries to swipe away the wet spot on his ‘pillow’, then quietly orders the computer to increase lights to fifteen percent.

In the dim light he can make out Bones’ face, scruffy with stubble and slack with sleep, the slope of his bare shoulders uncovered by the blankets. So. Okay. That’s unexpected. Jim shifts under the covers, sliding a leg experimentally against his friend’s, which confirms for him that _he_ is buck ass naked, and Bones is at the very least not wearing a shirt or pants.

What. The fuck. Not that Jim _minds_ , necessarily, but there’s no way he believes he and McCoy fucked last night, because he knows his friend better than that. And yet here they are.

“Computer,” he says, shaking his head and turning his mind to other things for the moment, “what’s the time?”

“The current time is 1437, shipboard,” the computer responds, and any thought of leaving Bones to sleep while Jim quietly slips out of bed and starts getting ready for his day is immediately abandoned. He bolts upright, heart suddenly pounding; Bones is jostled awake by the movement.

“Hey, wake up,” Jim says urgently. “We’ve slept right through alpha watch, _shit_. Computer, lights at seventy-five.”

Bones groans, throws an arm over his face to block the light from his eyes. His other hand gropes around until it closes around Jim’s wrist. “G’back to sleep,” he mumbles, his voice all gritty and accent about as thick as Jim’s ever heard it, which, shit. Why is that hot? “Spock’s got th’bridge. Christine’s runnin’ sickbay. Turn off th’ damn lights.”

Jim just... takes a moment to process that. And then he gets out of bed anyway, taking the blanket with him because he is buck ass naked, and he's a little bit relieved to see that Bones is wearing boxers. 

"You want a coffee?" he asks, because he's getting one for himself anyway and it doesn't look like Bones is going to wake up without it. 

"I wanna sleep, Jim." 

"Well, I don't, and it's my bed, so." 

Jim crosses to the replicator and punches in the code for two cups of coffee, one black with sugar and the other with cream. Behind him he can hear Bones muttering something about ungrateful brats before ordering the lights down to half. He's sitting up when Jim returns, at least, and takes the coffee Jim hands him, apparently unbothered that he's most of the way naked in Jim's bed. 

Not that he's got anything to be shy about. Jim's got eyes, okay, and it's no secret that his best friend is hot. He's not complaining about the view, but Bones has definitely never seemed interested before—Jim would have _noticed_ if Bones was interested--so, again, and he cannot stress this enough, _what the fuck_? 

He waits to ask until Bones has finished chugging his coffee, but then he just comes out with it: "Remind me why you're sleeping in my bed?" 

" _Mmmn_." Bones passes his empty cup back and scrubs his hands down his face, looking for a moment like this is a conversation he really does not want to have. "Your idea. I was gonna take the couch." 

Which doesn't really explain anything, but it sounds innocent enough. Right up until he squints at the blanket bundled around Jim's waist and adds, "Your pants are still over there, if you want to put something on." 

Jim opens his mouth to say something, only he's not sure what. He closes it again. Opens it, closes it, and he's starting to look like a fish probably so he finally points at Bones and nods and manages, "That. I'm gonna do that." 

Seeing the haphazard way his clothes are tossed on the floor—and some of Bones' clothes, too, Jim doesn't _own_ a blue uniform shirt—only feeds his suspicion. He makes a tent of the blanket around himself while he pulls on his pants, then scoops up Bones' shirt and tosses it at him. Bones raises an eyebrow but pulls it on, leans over to pick up his pants from the floor on his side of the bed, and Jim decides he really, really needs to know.

"Did we have sex?" 

That look crosses Bones' face again and he groans and says, " _Christ_. You were really out of it, huh? What _do_ you remember from yesterday?" 

It's not an answer, but it serves as a distraction. Jim frowns, thinking back, and slowly it comes to him: "Balok. Shit." 

"Uh-huh," Bones says. "No more triple watches for you," which is rich, coming from him, but Jim will let it go this time because he’s still busy pulling up memories. He remembers telling Lieutenant Kaur to lay in a course after Scotty's report that engineering had gotten the engines repaired and back online. And Bones had come up to the bridge not long after that, dragged Jim back here to feed him and... _oh_. 

Yeah. Wow. Somehow, suspecting they'd fucked hasn't prepared Jim _at all_ for the reality of remembering it. He looks at the couch, which he might never be able to sit on again without thinking about Bones teasing _I've_ been _touching you_ , and then he _doesn't_ look at Bones' hands, because he might never be able to do that again without thinking about the things he can _do_ with those hands... and then he says, slowly, "You didn't answer my question." 

Bones stares down at the floor—glares, more like—and scrubs his hands roughly through his hair. Jim can see him gathering up his courage in the way he breathes deep and settles his shoulders. Then he looks up, directly into Jim’s eyes, his jaw set and lips pressed tight together. He takes another breath, steadying, and here it comes: “Yeah, Jim. We had sex.”

That’s really all Jim wanted to hear—he just didn’t want his friend to deny it—but Bones keeps talking: “I’m sorry, kid. It shouldn’t’ve happened, the state you were in you couldn’t have given proper consent, an’ I just—”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on, no,” Jim interrupts. “What? No. _Bones_. First of all, that’s crazy, of course I could consent, you could’ve been putting your hands all over me any day of the week from the first time I _met_ you, do you even realize how hot you are? _And_ you’re my best friend? Who I trust completely and know would never do anything to hurt me? Consent granted, constantly, any time, I made that decision a long time ago. Second of all, _what_ , no, of _course_ it should’ve happened, are you serious? _Bones_. That was like, not to overinflate your ego or anything but _easily_ in the top three best lays I’ve ever had, you were _incredible_. And you think, what, you took advantage of me somehow? When you made me come so hard I cried because you wanted to take care of me and then you wouldn’t even let me return the favour? That’s, no, that’s ridiculous, if anything _I_ took advantage of _you_ ,” and Bones’ face has been contorting in interesting ways while he tries to hold back his reaction to what Jim is saying but this is where he finally interrupts.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he growls. “Don’t even go there, Jim. If I wasn’t okay with it I wouldn’t have done it.”

Which, okay. Jim wouldn’t describe Bones’ level of enthusiasm last night as just _okay with it_ , but whatever. He turns up his brightest thousand-megawatt smile and says, “See? We’re both on the same page, then: last night was awesome, no regrets.”

Bones slides his gaze to the side, and Jim feels his breath catch, a sharp skewer of hurt lancing straight through him.

“Bones? No regrets, right?”

Bones sighs out through his nose and doesn’t meet Jim’s eyes again. “Look, Jim… I don’t know that I made the right call last night, but no, I don’t regret it. We got to be clear on one thing, though: I don’t want you thinking there’s somethin’ more going on here. I’m not plannin’ to make a habit of it or signing up to be fuckbuddy of the month. You’re my best friend, that’s it, and last night was a one-off.”

Jim swallows away the sting of _fuckbuddy of the month_ ; as if Bones could ever mean so little to him, even if Jim hadn’t gone practically celibate cold-turkey the day the Admiralty confirmed him as Captain of the _Enterprise_. He tries to, anyway, but it lingers like a slap to the face, heating his cheeks. And damn him, but the sting of rejection always has made Jim mean.

“Right,” he says, knowing he shouldn’t but feeling powerless to stop the flow of words. “Well, take it from someone who knows, then: when most guys offer a helping hand, they don’t mean more than—” He breaks off on a crude pantomime, pretending to lick his hand and then jerk his fist roughly. There’s a harsh bloom of satisfaction in his chest at the way Bones’ lip twitches with disgust, and Jim drives the point home. “What _you_ did is called making love. If you’re ever looking for a step by step guide on how to fuck like you _don’t_ mean it, you know where to find me.”

Which would be a hell of a line to walk away on, if Jim wasn’t standing half naked in his own quarters. He proceeds to tidy up instead, pointedly clearing a path to the door for his best friend who’s sitting on his bed looking positively _eviscerated_.

“Jim.”

It’s funny how he never realized before how folding a blanket can so deeply absorb his attention. But of course Bones doesn’t accept the cold shoulder.

“God damn it, Jim, look at me,” and there’s a hand on Jim’s shoulder spinning him around. Bones is right up in his space, practically nose to nose; he tips their heads together and his hand slides around to the back of Jim’s neck, holding him in place. There’s no avoiding meeting his eyes like this, and Jim’s stomach sinks.

They say it at the same time: “I’m sorry,” and Bones tightens his hand on Jim’s neck, shakes him gently, and repeats, “ _I’m_ sorry. All right? You don’t get snippy without a reason.”

Jim recognizes the question in the statement. He licks his lips and closes his eyes, because even with Bones if he’s going to be _this_ vulnerable he can’t look him in the face. “You know I’d never do that, just toss you away when I’m done with you. I’m never gonna be done with you, period. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, Jim, I know that. And I still think it’s for the best if we don’t try doin’ this again. Okay?”

Jim nods, knocking their foreheads together. The hand on his neck squeezes once, then releases him, and Bones steps away. He takes the blanket from Jim’s hands, lays it neatly over the arm of the couch, and comes back.

“Assholes and idiots, the pair of us,” Bones says ruefully. He takes Jim’s face in his hands and places a gentle kiss on his forehead, and Jim breaks. He wraps Bones up in, ha, a bone-crushing hug and shoves his face against Bones’ shoulder.

“Yeah, but you’re _my_ asshole,” he mumbles.

“Idiot,” Bones agrees, voice soft with affection, and cradles the back of Jim’s head gently, running his fingers up through his hair. “Drink your coffee before it gets cold. And I want to see you in sick bay before you go on watch tomorrow. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Jim sighs and lets Bones go, but not before dropping a little peck of a kiss on the corner of his brow. Bones smiles that wide, crooked smile that makes his dimples show and returns the kiss, automatically, to the tip of Jim’s nose: a stupid little ritual, but it makes Jim feel better about this whole mess of a day.

He’s got a feeling Bones is about to start featuring in his fantasies a lot more often—there’s no way Jim’s just going to _forget_ how those hands can make him feel, now that he’s experienced it—but it doesn’t matter. Jim and Bones, Bones and Jim, inseparable idiots, are going to be just fine.


End file.
